Christmas In the Heir
by Lady Etiquette
Summary: Christmas at Downton Abbey finds the Crawley family finding their way to each other all over again. Thank you to Julian Fellowes for his wonderful characters. Modern AU based on canon.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: _Not sure where this is going maybe just a chapter or two for fun_.

Downton Abbey – December 1, 2013

Matthew craned his head looking for the turn off to the great house. One hand draped over the steering wheel, the other holding the directions he had scribbled on a notepad when George Crawley had called to summon him. He glanced down at the paper crumpled in his hand and back up at the road, straining to find the country road leading to the house.

"Jesus, where the hell is the bloody drive way?" He breathed out, shaking his head in frustration. Wealth exasperated him. The last time he had been to Downton was when he was twelve. His parents and he had been included at an extended family celebration of the anniversary of the building of the estate home, which occurred over Christmas. As a twelve year old boy, and one of two Crawley heirs, he had been fascinated by the fairytale quality of the house. He remembered the two-story Christmas tree in the salon, glittering ornaments and sumptuous food. He had liked George Crawley, a distant cousin, who had been extremely kind to him and his parents. Matthew's father was a doctor, and his mother a nurse, who lived a more normal life but still a rather privileged one. They had appreciated George's kindness and sense of family.

Suddenly from behind a hedgerow, the gravel road to the house discreetly appeared on the left. Matthew pulled the steering wheel, turning up the drive, and the large house unfolded in front of him like a mountain of lime stone, glass and spires. Despite his preference for conventional living standards, Downton Abbey never ceased to impress him. He had liked the eldest heir, Michael Crawley, and fleetingly thought back to George's phone call two weeks earlier. Michael was dead. A car accident in Boston. Downton's prince was gone, survived only by his sister, Mary.

The situation left Matthew as the new and reluctant heir. He sighed, thinking about Mary, feeling sorry for her loss but wondering if she was still the prickly shrew she had been as a child. She had been a beautiful little girl, but a selfish conceited brat. The thought sent chills up his spine and he shivered, hoping she was no longer looking after Cousin George.

The blue Volvo serpentined around the front of the house, coming to a crunching stop several yards away from the main entrance. Matthew got out, ran a hand through his blond hair and reached for his sport coat in the backseat. He slipped it on as he approached the door and rang the bell.

~~00~~

Mary Crawley stood in the downstairs powder room eyeing her in the mirror. Using one of her fingers, she gently lifted the skin around one eye bemoaning the first signs of tiny crow's feet. "Damned things," she muttered." I really need to call that plastic surgeon and get a Botox treatment."

The house bell filled the air. She hastily finished washing her hands and headed for the front door, shaking her head. "Matthew Bloody Crawley," she sighed. He had been an annoyingly perfect little boy. An exact replica of his namesake, the long lost 8th Earl; this Matthew Crawley had been a child that people doted on adoringly. She could still recall him playing with a model airplane as the family smiled approvingly and everyone saw the resemblance to great-great Uncle George's father. Mary huffed, dreading his visit. She paused and took a deep breath as her hand grasped the door knob. "Alright then, let's get this ridiculous business over with."

Pulling the door open she saw a man standing with his back to the door. As he turned around, she took in his attire. Dark brown jeans, a light blue shirt open at the collar, and a brown tweed sport coat with a blue and brown silk pocket square stuffed in to the chest pocket. His hair was short, and the same bright blond color she remembered, which blew haphazardly around his head, locks of it brushing over a pair of Ray Bans. His lips formed a gentle smile. "Hello, Mary."

She thought he was positively stunning and her heart was in her throat. She smiled nervously back at him despite herself. "Hello." She stepped to one side. "It's good of you to come. Uncle George will be so happy to see you. Please come inside."

"Thank you," he said breezing past her. He stopped and faced her, his voice sincere and quiet. "I'm so, very sorry about Michael. He was a fine man."

Mary nodded and rubbed her hands together. "Thank you," was all she could say. She averted her eyes, glancing toward a window, and then back. "Well then, follow me. He's back in the smoking room." She said as she began walking.

Matthew nodded and fell in line behind her, admiring her beauty. She was the spitting image of her ancestor, Mary Crawley Blake. "Is he still smoking?" He asked as they walked, wanting to make conversation.

Her expression was kind but confounded. "What do you think?"

He nodded and chuckled. She smelled wonderful. "Well, he's ninety two. What can it hurt at this point?" Following her, he couldn't help but glance down at her bottom as it moved beneath the tailored, navy blue Burberry slacks she wore with a white sweater.

She paused as they passed a large oil painting. Looking up they admired the rendering of Captain Matthew Crawley, who was posed in a World War I Army officer's uniform. "You look just like him, you know." His eyes mesmerized her.

Matthew's eyes moved over the painting and then looked back at her. Perhaps the shrew was gone, he pondered. But she was right—he could see his resemblance to the man who was never Earl, but who was George's father. "Is that a good thing?" he teased her.

Mary cocked her head. "He was quite handsome, so I'd say it can't hurt."

He looked up at the large painting and then back at her. "That's quite a testimonial."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't flatter yourself. The first Mathew Crawley was a genuine war hero who saved the entire estate." She turned on her heel and spoke over her shoulder. "And you? Are you still playing with airplanes?"

His brow furrowed. The shrew lived. "As a matter of fact I am." He caught up to her as she rounded a corner toward the east wing.

"Well isn't that special," Mary said in a droll and intentionally condescending tone. She didn't want Matthew sniffing around the estate. He was the heir, but as long as her uncle was alive the estate was still her baby, which she had successfully renovated and branded. Aside from tours and weddings, the family still occasionally entertained lavishly at Downton, which she oversaw and took great pride in.

"The house is resplendent, Mary. You've done a wonderful job." He said looking around as they walked.

She peered over at him. "Thank you. That's exactly what the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge said when they were here over the summer. But I'm so glad you approve as well."

He detected the sarcasm in her voice and clenched his jaw in frustration. "Look, I feel awful about Michael and I deeply regret my position in all this." He was huffing as he spoke. Mary had picked up their pace. "But I can assure you, Mary, I have no intention of interrupting anything you have in place here. There will always be a place for you at Downton."

She stopped. _There will always be a place for you at Downton_… The words stung and echoed around in her head, already making her feel like an outsider. "Well what's done is done." She said opening the door to the smoking room.

"Mary, please we can talk about the est…"

She cut him off. "He's just in here. Let's not keep him waiting."

~~00~~

Matthew's eyes soaked in the beautiful antique filled room; its walls adorned with more oil paintings of dead Crawleys. He smiled at the sight of George; his tall, silver haired frame elegantly slouched in a leather club chair, puffing a pipe. His reading glasses were perched on top of his head and he was wearing a burgundy red velvet smoking jacket, white shirt and a necktie.

George had been gazing out a window, but his attention and his tall silhouette turned toward them. He immediately smiled at the sight of Mary. "Ah, my dear, you bring our dashing visitor." He said pushing himself up from the leather chair with one hand, gripping the silver orb of his cane with the other.

Matthew immediately stepped over to him and reached out to help the old gentleman. "Please, Lord Grantham, be careful!" He kept his voice light but respectful.

The Earl laughed and tapped his cane on the floor. "Get a hold of yourself, Matthew, and let's dispense with formalities." His voice was filled with affection and humor. "Please call me George." He extended a steady hand.

Matthew smiled and let out a chuckling breath and shook his hand. "As you wish, Cousin George."

"Good Man!" George laughed openly and sincerely and clasped Matthew's hand, then leaned over and gave Mary a kiss on her cheek. He looked back at Matthew. "She's beautiful isn't she?"

Matthew looked at Mary and agreed, she was breathtaking, but bit down the urge to comment that she had the temperament of a snake.

Mary blushed and rolled her eyes. "Honestly, uncle, your eyesight is as bad as your jokes. And your attempts at flattery are shameless."

George laughed again and patted her arm. "I see perfectly fine, young lady and I mean every word of it. But I think we could do with a spot of tea."

She relented, her eyes softening, and noticed a tea service on the coffee table. "You sit. I'll pour."

George eyed the new heir, both hands propped on the cane. "You drink tea, young Crawley?"

"Yes, sir. My favorite is Earl Grey."

The old man smiled a broad, flash of perfectly straight teeth. "What a coincidence. So is mine." His upper class, Cambridge accent rolled the words around like marbles in his mouth.

Mary held a cup and saucer. "Where would you like me to set this?"

He waved around the coffee table. "Let's sit here, shall we?"

She set the cup down, and then another. She spoke conversationally as she poured and they all began to get settled. "Uncle, Matthew says he's still playing with model airplanes."

Matthew paused, cup in hand. He smiled knowingly before sipping the hot, aromatic brew. George caught his eye. "How quaint for a man who flew forty six combat missions in Iraq and Afphganistan."

Matthew's eyes shot up at him. "You've been checking up on me." He murmured suspiciously.

Mary paused and looked at Matthew, her brows knitted in surprise and embarrassment. "You're a pilot?"

"Guilty as charged." Matthew smiled and shrugged. "Twelve years in the R.A.F."

"Don't be so modest," George pronounced proudly. He looked at Mary. "This chap was one of the most decorated R.A.F pilots of the war and a credit to his family." George took delight in his cousin's accolades. He looked back at Matthew. "Tell her what you do now."

Mary looked back at Matthew pensively. "What _do you do_ now?"

Matthew let out a self conscious sigh. "I'm a pilot for British Airways."

George chuckled. "And not just _any_ pilot," he nudged Mary, "but the _youngest senior captain_ in the history of British Airways." He was bursting his buttons.

Mary looked nonplussed. "Heavens." She realized Matthew Crawley was still the perfect boy that everyone adored. She didn't smoke anymore but suddenly wanted a cigarette. She crossed her arms defiantly. "I didn't realize I was going to be in such illustrious company."

Matthew pressed his lips together wanting to change the subject. "Well as much as I appreciate your approval, Cousin George, I'm sure you didn't summon me to review m C.V. and boor Mary to death. I presume you want to discuss the estate."

George finished a long sip of tea and set his cup down in to the saucer with an elegant clink. "Yes, of course, quite right. There is something you can help me with and it does have to do with the estate." He let out a sigh and his voice grew more serious. "Michael's body is in Boston. I want to personally bring him home and I was hoping you could help me."

Matthew straitened up in his seat eagerly. "Yes, of course, it would be an honor to make arrangements for you with the airline." He leaned forward, his arms on his knees. "What can I do to help?"

George smiled expectantly. "I want you to fly Mary and I to Boston."

Mary choked on her tea.

_Thank you for reading!_


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N** I have been traveling since Thanksgiving so I haven't had much time to write, so please accept my apology for such a long delay. Here's an attempt at another chapter. This is totally new territory for me as a fic writer so I'm sort of out of my element and I know there are other fic writers who are much better a this sort of thing than I am. But it's fun to write, none the less, and I thank you for indulging me and reading this at all. We'll see where this goes.

* * *

London Heathrow International – December 10, 2013

Dressed in a black airline flight crew uniform coat and matching wheel cap, Matthew walked briskly down the empty stairwell toward the door leading to the tarmac. He swiped his security card and pushed the heavy double gauge steel door open, allowing a blast of cold December air to hit him in the face. He yanked the collar of his black wool top coat up around his neck and headed toward the airplane which stood like a steel mountain directly in front of him. As late afternoon settled, amber sun light glimmered off the body of the enormous aircraft he now walked underneath.

The 747-8 was the newest and largest airliner ever built. British Airways was experimenting with the newest jumbo jet in its fleet, and Matthew had been selected to fly it. Looking up at the belly of the enormous white fuselage he cupped his hands over his mouth and blew warm air to chase the winter chill away. Ahead of him he saw a familiar figure crouching over the center wheel well, Maintenance Officer Giles.

Giles stood up. "Good morning, sir," he said in a tone revealing his delight at seeing his former commanding officer. He spun a socket wrench like a gunslinger, sliding it down in to his coat pocket.

Matthew had seen the trick a thousand times and smiled. "Good morning, Giles. Have you shaken that cold off?"

"I'm alright sir. Right as rain."

Matthew gave him an empathetic smile. "We're not in the R.A.F anymore, Giles. You don't need to call me sir."

"Yes, sir, er…Captain."

"Something wrong with the landing gear?"

Giles chuckled. "No, sir." He kicked the huge tire playfully and puffs of frigid air left his mouth as he spoke. "This big lady is ready, waiting and able, if you get my meaning, sir?"

"I do." Matthew smiled in the spirit the joke as intended. "So I'll find your wrench in the left seat when I enter the flight deck?"

The mechanic laughed. "Have I ever let you take off in an aircraft I wasn't willing to fly myself?"

Matthew burst out laughing and clapped him on the shoulder and they finished the pre-flight walk around together.

~~00~~

"If you ask me, he's an over blown bus driver." Mary said pulling the belt of her white Chanel coat tighter around her waist to stay warm. Out the window of the Bentley, she saw the Heathrow terminal fast approaching ahead.

George turned down a corner of the newspaper he'd been buried in. "Are you comparing a 747 to a lorry?"

She rolled her eyes. "He transports people from point A to point B." She shrugged to underline her position. "What's the big deal?"

"A jumbo airliner holds over four hundred passengers." He fixed his stare at her. "It flies at over five hundred and sixty miles per hour….that's Mach eight in terms of the speed of sound." Being an old, experienced pilot himself he was proud of his aviation acumen.

Mary glanced over trying to hide her expression of reconsideration. "Alright, it's a more sophisticated bus, I'll give you that. But still, a bus is a bus."

George sighed and snapped the paper closed. "You're impossible."

At the gate, the giant 747 stood outside the window, its immense body painted with British Airways red white and blue insignia paint. Walking from the jetway on to the plane, Mary glanced down the double ails of the main cabin. The sheer size of the airplane made her pause. She immediately became aware of how many people were aboard, easily figuring several hundred taking their seats and at least another hundred passengers were still lingering behind her. A team of well dressed flight hostesses were assisting passengers, putting small bags overhead and handing out blankets.

An older, senior flight attendant approached her. "Hello, I'm Ellen Pendergast. May I help you?"

Mary straightened her posture. "Yes, thank you. We're looking for First Class."

"Certainly, right this way," she said turning and walking toward the front the airplane and then climbing the circular staircase.

Mary was looking around, her eyes wide as she took everything in. George was right behind her, and leaned forward whispering in her ear. "What was it you were saying about him being a bus driver?"

~~00~~

Matthew slid his black uniform jacket off as he entered the cockpit, taking notice of the co-pilot who sat in the right eat. "Harry Stoddard, as I live and breath," he said sarcastically to the First Officer.

Stoddard extended a hand and a smile. "Matthew! What's it been? A year?"

"That sounds about right. The flight to Sydney on the seven—eighty—seven, right?"

"And now the airline's putting this beautiful princess in your hands, you lucky dog."

Matthew smirked. A thought came to him but he kept it to himself. "There are two seats in this cockpit, Harry, so the way I see it we both have our hands on her."

Looking at the pilot's seat, he saw that Giles had left his wrench underneath one of the safety restraints, a tradition they had started years ago in the military when Giles had been an aircraft mechanic . Matthew smiled as he picked up the heavy tool and turned to one of the maintenance techs holding a clip board. "Would you please return this Maintenance Officer Giles?"

"Yeah, sure," the young tech said tucking the wrench the into his coat pocket and holding out the clipboard. "Just need your signature on these forms, sir, and you can be on your way."

~~00~~

Mary was shrugging her coat off, angling her head to peek in to the cockpit, which was alight with colored buttons illuminated on the control panel and last minute ground workers checking in. She could see Matthew talking with several men and a young perky twenty-something air hostess who seemed to laugh at everything he said. She rolled her eyes and then wondered why she cared.

George settled in to his leather seat, adjusting his cravat and fastening his seat belt. He glanced up to see Matthew approaching which brought a smile to his face. "Ah, here's our aircraft commander. Good evening Captain Crawley."

"Good evening, George. Beautiful night for flying isn't it?" He shook George's hand.

Mary was fidgeting with her coat as she looked for some place to stow it. She eyed Matthew noticing he had shaved and his shirt was crisply pressed with creases like a razor's edge and he wore a black necktie. His uniform shirt had black epaulettes with silver braiding, reflecting some sort of airline rank. His blond hair was neatly parted and perfectly combed, altogether combining to make a handsome commanding appearance and much different than the blue jeans and sport coat look he wore two weeks earlier.

He reached over and gently took the coat from her hand. "May I?" He smiled and stepped over to a hidden compartment where he pulled out a coat hanger and hung it up. "It will be nice and safe here with the flight crew coats."

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Thank you." She said sitting down, feeling self conscious.

George was trying to fasten his seatbelt. "Damned things. Either these used to be easier or I've gotten feeble."

Matthew bent over to adjust the straps. "It's not you, George. The aircraft is new so everything sticks."

"Except the control stick, I hope?"

He laughed. "No, fortunately all the critical components work like a charm." He was reaching over, leaning in front of Mary, only an inch from her. She discreetly pressed herself beck in to her seat, but could feel the warmth from his body and smell his aftershave, an intoxicating lemon and spice confection. She suddenly felt tingles from her ears down to her magenta pink painted toes that were curling in her shoes.

As Matthew's arms moved to assist George, he glanced at Mary, his pale blue eyes directly in front of hers. "I beg your pardon. This will only take a moment."

She replied softly, hesitantly, her eyes glued to his. "It's alright, really."

Suddenly the seat belt clicked. "Ah, Young Crawley, you've done it!"

Matthew stood up. "Sorry, George. She's a gorgeous aircraft, and a dream to handle, but she can be stubborn at times."

George arched a brow. "True of most great ladies, don't you think?"

Matthew chuckled and nodded and started to say something but was interrupted by the senior flight attendant. "We're all set Captain. The manifest has been counted. Four hundred and twenty passengers, the full crew, and a partridge in a pear tree."

"Thank you Mrs. Pendergrast. I'll leave you in charge of Lord Grantham." The attendant chuckled as he glanced down at his wrist watch. "If you'll excuse me."

Mary watched as he returned to the flight deck with its blinking lights, people dashing out and last minute muffled remarks. She leaned out and watched as he bent over to do something end then slid down in to the pilot's seat.

George's voice interrupted h er eavesdropping. "You're checking out the bus driver a little obviously my dear."

She blanched. "I was doing no such thing. I'm just fascinated by it all like any other passenger." As George returned to his view out the window, she watched the senior flight hostess close the cockpit door and then there was a click of the dead bolt.

~~00~~

Taxiing to the runway, Matthew sat up straighter in his seat, flexing his grip on the throttles and waited for air traffic control to give them the final approval. The tower suddenly crackled in his ears.

"_British Airways five-two-seven you are cleared for take off and ascend to ten thousand."_

Matthew reached up and adjusted the mouthpiece of his headset. "Roger, Heathrow, five-two-seven cleared for take off and ascend to ten thousand." He turned to Stoddard. "Give the wings a last minute check for ice, will you Harry?"

The First Officer turned around in his seat and looked over the wingspan and then back at several gauges on the control panel. "No ice. Cleared for take off." He reached down and flicked on the aircraft landing lights, lighting up the runway in front of them.

Matthew's hands gripped the throttle tight, pushing it forward in one smooth, firm motion. The engines began the high pitched groan of thrust as the aircraft began its roll.

~~00~~

As the sound of the engines filled the cabin, Mary felt herself pushed back in to her seat and the airplane rambled underneath her. In her peripheral vision out the window, the runway lights were becoming a blur and the terminal went by as the airplane picked up speed.

"I love this part," George said as he smiled at her and then looked back out the window.

There were subtle rattling sounds from the First Class galley. She tightened her seat belt and thought of Matthew, the airplane responding under his touch, racing to reach the right speed for take off.

~~00~~

Matthew's eyes glanced down at the control panel, checking their speed. The plane continued to rev under his hand, the world flying past them, and the runway marker flashing up ahead. The powerful airflow pushed under the aircraft…he could feel her wanting to lift off. He felt his pulse quicken as he gently pushed the throttle a few inches forward. "Come on baby….open up for me," he murmured as though the airplane could hear his quiet plea.

~~00~~

Mary felt herself slammed in to her seat, her breath nearly taken away. The engines screamed behind and beneath her, her whole body experiencing a soft and powerful vibration. The world was a blur out the window as the end of the airport flew by. Her fingers curled around the arm rest and she found herself hanging on to the airplane, and in some way to Matthew, as she felt the vibration ripple through her body. She imagined his hands on the controls of the airplane, every element responding to his touch or command, their whole existence teetering on the precipice of flight.

~~00~~

"One hundred and sixty." Harry's voice was professional as he confirmed the speed.

Matthew could feel the aircraft straining under his hands. He spoke into his mouthpiece. "Rotate," and both men pulled back gently on their control yokes, instantly pitching the nose of the aircraft upward in to the twilight blue sky. The 747 lifted up in to a steep, vertical climb, leaving the ground behind them as they hurtled in to the atmosphere. Harry reached down and pressed the landing gear switch, and the wheels twisted up in to position underneath them and locked in to place with a confident thud.

Harry smiled. "Nice take off. I think I need a cigarette."

Matthew laughed. "Now let's give everyone the most beautiful view of London they'll ever see." He said banking the airplane to the right, and the first evening lights of London unfolded like a blanket of stars across the evening horizon.

Better than sex, he thought smugly as he watched the altimeter and airspeed.

~~00~~

George put his hand on Mary's. "Nice take off. The ole boy has a nice touch."

Mary smiled. "You sound impressed and like you're trying to sell me something."

"Who? Me?"

She laughed and patted his hand. "Different than the Spitfires or fighters you flew?"

He grinned. "Immeasurably different, yet the same in theory." He let his head fall back on to the seat, his eyes drifting in memory. "Most pilots will tell you it's better than sex. And I think they'd be right."

Mary chuckled and rested her head, too, and wondered. Looking out the window she saw London down below, its lights glittering like jewelry. Underneath her she could feel the airplane continuing its ascent, the speed accelerating all around them, as Matthew took them all to new heights and out over the Atlantic ocean and toward Boston.

She patted at tiny beads of perspiration on her forehead. The ole boy does have a nice touch, she mused to herself….


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N** Thank you all for reading my story and for your very supportive reviews! So kind of you! Here is a stab at another installment.

Somewhere Over the North Atlantic - 9 P.M

As George napped beside her, Mary lifted her wrist to check her watch. Three hours in to the flight, three more to go. She decided she needed to stretch her legs and shake off some of the flight anxiety she always felt when she flew. She noticed Mrs. Pendergast in the galley, and tea sounded like good way to chase the cobwebs away. She got up and rubbed her hands as she approached the tiny kitchen. "Hello," she said to the hostess.

"Hello Miss Crawl…er, I mean Lady Mary."

Mary smiled and waved a hand. "Please, Mary will do fine, thank you. I was wondering if I could get something to drink?"

"Oh, I would have brought that to you Miss Crawley!"

"It's quite alright. I really needed the opportunity to move about and get my circulation going." She smiled, reinforcing her message. She suddenly felt a tap in her back by the cockpit door and turned around to find Matthew right behind her.

"I'm terribly sorry," he said in a chipper voice. "I keep bumping in to you or leaning over you. Despite the enormity of this airplane it can be close quarters I'm afraid." He stood comfortably, noticing Mrs. Pendergast's efforts. "I hope our service is meeting your expectations. It doesn't get any better than Ellen Pendergast." He winked and the flight attendant gave him an appreciative glance in return.

"I was just stretching my legs and wanted to get a drink."

He glanced down at her hands and his brow wrinkled. "You look like your trembling. Is everything alright?" His voice was gentle and sincere.

She shrugged. "To be honest, I have a terrible fear of flying."

"You're not serious, really?" She nodded in reply. He gave her an earnest smile. "Statistically, you are much safer up here than you are on the M-way. And I can assure you the First Officer and I are quite possibly the best pilots in the airline." His eyes twinkled with the playful remark.

"It's silly I know, but I just can't help it." As he stood right in front of her, his front brushing against hers, Mary felt her heart beat faster.

"Here, let me help," he said reaching for one of her hands. Befor she could object, he took it in his and wrapped his hands around hers. "Sometimes warming up helps reduce anxiety." He tenderly rubbed her hand in his. Suddenly, a jolt shuddered through the airplane, and it leaned momentarily to one side, throwing them off balance. Matthew caught his footing but fell back up against the wall and Mary stumbled up against him. She braced her hands on his chest and he wrapped an arm around her, supporting her against him.

Their bodies pressed against each other and Mary took deep breaths trying to catch herself. He spoke softly looking in to her brown eyes which sparkled and captivated him. "It's just a little turbulence; nothing to worry about. Perfectly normal this time of year over the Atlantic."

Her eyes were wide with fright and something else….exhilaration. "You're sure?"

His lips turned up in to a sweet smile and his hand patted her back gently. "Yes. Airplanes are designed to fly through turbulence, just as a ship sails through waves in the water. Getting tossed about a bit is perfectly normal and nothing to be afraid of." He loved the feel of her warm body pressed up against him, her curves and contours apparent as she leaned up against him, her chest pressed against his. He suddenly realized it had been a long time since he had held a woman in his arms.

Mary wondered if he could feel her heart beating. She sensed the lemony-spicy wonderfulness again and wasn't entirely sure if it was the turbulence affecting her heart or something else, but she suddenly realized the airplane was quiet again. "Thank you," she said standing back on her own two feet, feeling comforted and composed.

He pressed his lips together and cleared his throat. He needed to change to the subject and his thoughts. "What sort of drink is Mrs. Pendergast whipping up for you?"

Ellen piped up. "The lady requested a coffee."

Matthew smiled. "If you really want to chase away aviophobia, I'd recommend making that coffee a decaf and add a shot of Irish whiskey to it."

Mary's brows arched. "There can't possibly be any truth to that recommendation." She teased him.

"No, honestly, the decaf reduces jitters and the warm booze will enable you to get a nice little nap. Will be touching down in Boston before you know it."

Mary looked at her watch. "Three more hours, right?"

"Three hours and twenty minutes to be exact. Just after midnight. Plenty of time to check in to your hotel and review the messages on your mobile."

"Oh, I don't have a cell phone."

He knitted his brows in question. "You mean you left it at home?"

"No I mean I don't have one." She cupped her hands around the white china coffee cup Mrs. Pendergast handed her and sipped carefully. The smell of the decaf coffee and whiskey was delightfully intoxicating to her nose.

Matthew was still perplexed. His entire world revolved around technology and speed. "I hope this doesn't sound impertinent, but how can anyone not have a mobile in this day and age? How do you keep in touch with your friends?"

She shrugged. "It does sound a little impertinent," she remarked light heartedly, "and the truth is between running Downton, and functioning as George's assistant, I don't have very many friends; or at least I don't have time for the ones I do have." She smiled ruefully.

His heart sank a little as he realized the depth of Mary's responsibilities and isolation. George held the title but due to his age Mary Crawley was, for all intents and purposes, the Earl of Grantham. "Well, it will be a good time to get to your hotel, none the less, so you can relax and still get a good night sleep." He meant it.

Mrs. Pendergast handed him a portable coffee cup with a lid. "Here you are, captain; full strength with a splash of cream and sugar."

"Thank you. Time for me to get back to work." He smiled and returned to the flight deck, pulling the door behind him with a click and the sound of the deadbolt again.

Mary cupped her coffee in her hands and stepped to the window on the exit door. She peeked cautiously out the window, seeing only cold, blackness below. But as she looked up she saw a constellation of stars, twinkling across the expansive night sky; the Milky Way was spread out before her eyes like a carpet of glittering infinity. She smiled and realized if she weren't standing in this airplane, at this altitude, it would be a sight she'd never see. A slight shudder of turbulence rippled through the plane again, but she thought about what Matthew had said and this time she felt sure footed and safe, as she held on to the warmth of her coffee cup and the memory of his arms around her.

Perhaps he was the right man to replace Michael as heir, and lead Downton toward a new future after George was gone? She pondered.

She returned to her seat and snuggled under a blanket. She sipped the last of her coffee, savoring its scent and a hint of aftershave that still lingered on her cashmere sweater. She felt warm and safe and never even noticed when Mrs. Pendergast slipped the cup from her hands as she dropped off to sleep…dreaming of the stars and the man who had given them to her.


	4. Chapter 4

Boston

The shiny midsized black limousine rolled sleekly through the streets of the city. Winter had descended on Boston like a chisel, turning trees and buildings in to ice sculptures among the streetlights. Mary glanced at Matthew who sat in the seat across from her and George. He had his black top coat, wheel hat and gloves on and was staring down at the cell phone in his hand. His body swayed with the movement of the car, but he was preoccupied by his messages. Something made him smile & chuckle softly. A girl? Mary wondered. She had caught him looking at the legs of one of the flight hostesses as they left the airport a few moments earlier. She self consciously looked down at her well tailored wool pants and regretted not wearing the skirt she had thought about.

The Parker House Hotel sat like a jewel on the edge of blue-blooded Beacon Hill, where it had hosted guests since 1855. Its limestone and pale brick edifice was dotted with the familiar dark green awnings and amber lighting; a welcome oasis from winter's bite.

"I feel like a night cap," George announced as the car pulled up to the hotel entrance. "Any takers?"

Matthew looked up. "After a long day and a transatlantic flight, I'd say that's a brilliant idea!"

Mary sniffed. "It's one in the morning."

"Don't be a spoil sport." George chided her as the chauffeur assisted him out of the car.

Matthew found the stately Parker House to be just like George: dignified, charming and old. They found the lobby bar still open and landed at a small table with leather chairs.

George sipped his drink and softly smacked his lips. "I always drink bourbon when I'm in the colonies. Damned good booze."

Matthew had ordered the same drink as George and swirled his glass. He eyed Mary. "Have you ever tasted it?"

"Bourbon?" She asked. "No, I never I have. And I'm afraid this white wine isn't doing much to take the chill off."

"Here," he said sliding his glass over to her. "Try it."

She smiled, lifted the glass up to her mouth and took a dainty sip. Matthew watched as the crystal rim pressed against her and the nutty amber liquid flowed between her lips. She swallowed and closed her eyes and then looked at him. "Oh, my."

"Good?"

She nodded. "Strong but quite good. I feel much warmer, thank you." She slid the glass back over to him and he smiled at the pinkish red lipstick mark on the rim.

Mary fingered the stem of her wine glass. "The Parker House is like a second home for you, isn't it George?"

George savored another sip and sighed. "Yes, quite." He thought for a moment. "I lost my virginity here." Mary's eyes flew open and Matthew slightly choked on his bourbon. George regarded them matter-of-factly. "I'm sorry if that shocks you but it's true. And it was a million years ago, so nothing to be shocked about." He took another pull on his drink.

Mary was curious and lowered her voice. "Was it one of the girls who worked here at the hotel?"

"Not at all. She was the younger wife of a much older diplomat. I was here with my parents; my step father was a keen investor." He smoothed a hand down his necktie and straightened up at the memory. "We met various people including the diplomat and his lovely young wife. There had been a party here at the hotel where everyone was staying. One thing led to another, and we slipped away to her room, which was separate from her husband's. She was a patient teacher and I was an eager pupil. " His eyes sparkled at the memory. "It was 1939….my nineteenth birthday."

Matthew leaned forward on his elbows, a broad smile on his face. He nodded in a knowing manner. "That's a charming memory. You should write a book, George."

A gentle smile curled up at the end of George's mouth. "It is." He took another drink, feeling audacious. "What about you, young Crawley?"

Matthew looked surprised, glancing between George and Mary. "Me?" He cleared his throat not sure how George's story of manood suddenly turned to his.

"Yes, you. I don't mean to embarrass you, but where were you?"

"Erm, well," Matthew took a small gulp of bourbon. "It was the summer of my sixteenth birthday. My family went on holiday to the coast of France with family friends who had a daughter a few years older than I was, and I suppose one thing led to another." His voice trailed off and he smiled.

Mary watched him. "Sixteen seems young."

Matthew shared a knowing glance with George and looked back at her. "Well, yes I suppose it is for a girl but for a boy—for me anyway—it was just about right."

Mary reached for Matthew's glass again and took another sip. She smiled. "It's funny how men always use the phrase 'one thing led to another' when they're politely referring to sex."

George laughed. "Well, it is a rather delicate subject in polite company, but it seems in this day and age a genteel reference isn't entirely indecent, now is it? Besides, when one is my age it's important for people to know there was a time when I was young and reckless, too."

They shared a laugh and Mary watched the men as they took another sip of bourbon. "Well what about me?"

Matthew and George looked at her. "What about you, my dear?" George asked sweetly.

"What about my story? Don't I get to share?"

George looked shocked. "Absolutely not! You're a woman and a lady, and…."

Matthew held up a hand and interrupted him in good humor. "Hold on George," he said politely. "Mary's got a point. It's the twenty first century and times are much different for women. And she sat through our little tales."

The waiter delivered another round of drinks and returned to the bar. George studied them and sighed, clearly seeing the point. "Yes, of course, I suppose." He waved a hand at Mary. "Share your story, but be gentle with us. I still have a double standard."

Mary smiled and reached for Matthew's fresh glass, taking another long sip. "Well, it was after the Christmas party my family had been invited to at Buckingham Palace. He was a Naval officer."

Matthew winced. "Navy?" He rolled his eyes playfully.

"He asked me to dance and we spent the evening chatting. He asked me out to luncheon the next day, and we had a bit of a romance for several weeks….and I suppose one thing led to another." She smirked and took another sip before sliding the glass back to Matthew. "I was twenty one. I hope you're not disappointed in me, George."

George patted her hand. "Never, my darling. I only regret that so much of your youth is being spent looking after me." He looked between Matthew and Mary. "You ought to be in love and taking care of a husband, not an old codger." He winked at her and looked at Matthew. "I know what her story is, but what about you Crawley? How is it that a fine, dashing young lad like you is still single?"

Matthew blinked, selecting his words quietly. "Well, it's not by choice, I can assure you. There was someone, very special. We were engaged to be married."

Mary cocked her head in curiosity, keen to uncover the story behind the man who chuckled softly at secret mobile messages and glanced at air hostesses. "But it didn't work out?"

He looked down in to his glass, the dark liquid reflecting pieces of light, like the memories in his head. "Not exactly. Her name was Laura and her father was my C.O when I was stationed at R.A.F. Mumford. It was pretty instant and we were together for several years." He turned the glass on the table top with his fingertips, as though the motion could turn back time. "She was diagnosed with cancer a year before the wedding, and insisted on calling it off. Said she didn't want me feel obligated, which of course was ridiculous, but she was adamant." His voice grew quiet. "Her funeral was three days after the date we had selected for our wedding." He lifted the glass and took a long pull on his drink. "That was four years ago and there hasn't been anyone since."

George leaned forward, speaking gently. "I'm terribly sorry, Matthew. People your age shouldn't know death. But how fortunate she was to have had a lad like you in her life."

Mary couldn't help but ask. "And all this time there hasn't been anyone? With all your travels?"

He assessed the empty bottom of his glass. "I think I'll have one more of these before calling it a night." He excused himself and got up and walked to the bar.

Mary tutted. "I wonder what that's supposed to mean?"

George leaned over and whispered. "It means don't' ask any more questions about it."

When Matthew returned, George looked at his watch. "Well, I should be getting to bed. It's late and the nap from the flight is wearing off." He said, pushing himself up with his cane. Both Matthew and Mary stood up to assist him, but he waved them off. "I'm perfectly capable of getting to my room. I fought the Nazis for god's sake…I think I can manage to get myself to the room without incident."

Matthew noticed a bellman in the lobby and held up a hand. "No one is saying you can't do it, George, but the hotel has been remodeled. Someone from the staff might be helpful."

George reconsidered. "You know, I hadn't thought of it that way. Quite right. Might be a good idea after all. A navigator, so to speak."

They watched as George walked away under the escort of the bellman. Matthew smiled at Mary. "I'll check on him in a bit."

"That was very adept thinking about the remodel. He wants to be independent."

"And who can blame him? I hope when I'm his age I'm in as good a shape and under the steam of my own legs and a cane as well. Not to mention reminiscing about steamy nights of spent youth. Good lord!" She laughed and they remained at the table, talking and laughing, gradually sitting closer and closer as they chatted and spoke in the quiet of the evening. They shared another glass of bourbon before following George up to the seventh floor.

~~00~~

Arriving at her hotel room, Mary fidgeted with the key card between her fingers. "Well, here we are. This is me. My room is adjoined to George's." She felt slightly light headed after the bourbon and leaned against the wall.

He stood in front of her. "I had fun tonight."

"Me, too. Thank you for flying me to America and for the bourbon. Although my head may not be thanking you in the morning."

"You're welcome." He felt flushed and bold and placed a hand against the wall, beside her head, leaning slightly toward her. His voice became a decadent whisper. "Was that true what you said? About you and the _sailor_? About being twenty one?"

"He wasn't a sailor. He was an officer and an attaché." She laughed and smiled alluringly. "Was it true what you said, about not having been with a woman in four years?"

His expression challenged her. "Ladies first." A whimsical smile covered his face and his eyes glittered at her.

Mary held his gaze and weighed her options, finally acquiescing. "Yes, I was twenty one. Probably makes me sound like a fuddy-duddy."

His eyes grew soft. "Not at all. Makes you sound like a nice girl." He kissed her cheek, his lips tickling her skin as he whispered. "And yes, it's been four years since I've been with anyone."

Mary's head fell back against the wall as his lips traced a line of subtle kisses from her cheek to her mouth. She felt breathless as he brushed his soft lips against hers, silently pleading for permission to kiss her. She sighed and parted her lips and he kissed her sweetly, pressing his lips against hers, until the tip of his tongue discreetly touched her lower lip and she slowly granted him permission with her mouth.

He kissed her tenderly and the sensation overwhelmed him as he felt the joy of kissing reverberate through his body, down to his feet. He angled his head and Mary quietly gasped in to him and a small bolt of electricity shot from his lips to his abdomen as he felt her breath mingle with his, their tongues swirling together inside their mouths. He moaned and leaned against her, and he felt one of her hands travel around his neck and in to his hair. He put his free hand on her waist and his thumb rubbed against her rib cage, rewarding him with another little gasp of pleasure, which he swallowed as he leaned in to her.

Mary's head was spinning, every pulse point in her body sparking and tingling at the feel of his mouth, his body, his touch and the scent of his lemony-spicy after shave enticing her nose and her sensibility. His kiss was intoxicating and she felt light headed and reached up and put one of her hands on his chest, needing to catch her breath.

Feeling her hand push gently against him, he paused and pulled away. He rested his forehead against hers, pressing his lips together. "I'm sorry. I know it's late and we've both had a bit to drink. I didn't mean…"

"No, no," she reassured him, patting his chest and catching her breath. "I'm just a little light headed. That' all."

His voice was playful. "From the bourbon or the kiss?"

She nuzzled his nose with hers. "What do you think?"

He smiled. "Well it's been a while for me but my needy, male ego is going with the kiss." His fingers reached for hers and slipped the key card from her hand. He reached up and swiped the card, and opened the door. He reached around for the light switch and a soft glow suddenly bathed the room. He held the door open for her and held out her key card. "Here you are."

Mary smiled again. "Goodness, British Airways literally does offer door to door service. I'm surprised you didn't deliver the luggage." She eyed him teasingly.

"To fly and to serve." He added suggestively, repeating the company motto.

"Thank you." She laughed and kissed his cheek, lingering for several seconds. "George was right. Your girl was lucky to have you."

"I loved her." He whispered against her forehead and then kissed her above her brows.

"I'm glad." As she said a final goodnight and closed the door, Mary leaned against it and listened to the sound of his steady footsteps disappear down the hall, the taste of his kiss still on her lips.

_Dear God in heaven,_ she mumbled to herself as she slumped against the door.


	5. Chapter 5

Boston – December 11

The funeral home hadn't been far from the hotel, and now they headed back. George sat in a dark suit, in the backseat of the limousine with Michael's ashes wrapped for shipping in a small box, which rested on his knees. Matthew sat beside him and watched as George's hand gently moved over the box as though he were stroking a child's hair. "Everything alright, George? I know it couldn't have been easy to claim Michael's remains like this. I'm sorry."

George spoke quietly but steadfast. "I loved him but Michael could be reckless." He sighed in thought. "He never wanted to be Earl. We're all reluctant heirs, but Michael truly didn't want it. Downton has always been Mary's first love."

"Well, I'm sure he loved you and Mary, none the less." Matthew's voice was filled with respect and tenderness. "And I meant what I said. Mary will always have a place at Downton as long as I'm alive, I promise."

"The title of earl officially belongs to one man, but Downton isn't about one person. The earldom and the estate need a family. I know times are different now, but that formula is how the great houses have stood the test of time."

Matthew studied him and then reached over and patted his hand, still resting on Michael's box. "Then I'll be sure to give it one."

George looked at him, the hint of a smile and hope returning to his face.

~~00~~

The lobby bar was busy serving lunch and drinks to a full crowd. Mary sat with a cup of tea and scanned the front page of the Boston Globe, absorbing the status of the world and then turned to the society page. She decided to wear a simple black dress, a shift, with long sleeves and a black patent belt and matching flats and dark opaque tights. She glanced down and admired her newly manicured nails, which now shined a sultry shade of dark claret. She had them done in the hotel boutique and splurged and bought the matching lipstick. She silently lectured herself for acting like a school girl after one kiss.

Her quiet reprimand was distracted by a man's voice. "Excuse us, are you alone?"

Mary looked up to find two young, rather handsome, American naval officers in dark dress uniforms standing beside her with inviting smiles. "Good morning." She said, now looking at two more reasons she was happy she had a manicure. She guessed them to be in their late twenties, full of spit and polish and some devil-may-care.

The taller of the two replied to her greeting. "British and beautiful. Must be our lucky day." He flashed a mega-watt smile of perfect teeth.

He was charming and Mary was slightly speechless at the brash, somewhat cliché nature of the comment. Typical American, she thought, yet she couldn't deny the fact that she was instantly flattered.

~~00~~

Walking in to the hotel Matthew took in the hustle and bustle of afternoon activity. The previous evening the grand building had been quiet and empty; now it was a whirlwind of motion with well dressed guests, hotel staff and business men bustling through it. He and George glanced in to the bar where they had been the night before. Mary was seated at a table with a newspaper, and two young men in Navy uniforms stood beside her table talking to her.

"Good God! A couple of swabbos are chatting her up." George sniffed with a laugh, propping his hands on his cane. "We can't leave her for a minute, Crawley. And those chaps are Navy which is her weakness."

Matthew rolled his eyes teasingly. "I hardly define it as a weakness."

George elbowed him. "Get in there and break it up, man!"

"What? Why me?"

"You heard what she said. One sight of a sailor and the woman apparently doesn't know herself!"

Matthew sighed in good humor. "She never said that, George, and you know it. She had a sweet, summer romance as a young woman with a lieutenant; not a sordid affair."

"Potato, potaahto…." George tutted.

"Really, George, I don't think it's any of my….ouch!" Matthew winced as George speared his cane in to his shoe. "Alright, alright! Jesus…" He pretended to glare at George and started to walk in to the bar. He stopped and looked back, self consciously brushing a hand over his head. "Do I look ok?"

"I've known women who don't have hair as good as yours. Now stop being such a girl's-limp-wrist and get on with it before the woman loses all control!" He winked.

Matthew exhaled, adjusted his sport coat and walked over to the table. The two officers turned and took notice of him as he walked up.

Mary looked happy—or was it relieved?—to see him. "There you are. I've been wondering…."

"Hello darling," he said in a husband-like tone, leaning over and pressing a kiss to her cheek, shushing her question. "I'm sorry I'm late. George and I were a little delayed taking care of things." He eyed the two men making his presence unmistakable.

Her eyes blinked at him. "Oh?" Sensing he was up to something, Mary seemed stunned but the sensation of his kiss was pleasantly distracting her from her surprise. Three men vying for her attention like lions—not something she was used to in the quiet Yorkshire countryside. Matthew was wearing dark jeans, a light blue dress shirt and a deep blue textured sport coat with a white pocket square.

He smiled as he ran a hand over her shoulder and down her back and murmured in her ear just loud enough for the two lieutenants to hear. "I didn't mean to make you wait so long." He straightened up and extended a hand to one of the officers and then the other. "Nice of you gents to be so kind."

The two men shared awkward glances and the taller one spoke. "Sir, I hope you don't think that we…?"

Matthew waved a hand nonchalantly. "Not at all. It was damned nice of you to look out for her. I'll have the bar tender put your lunch on our tab. Even in a nice hotel like this one, some blokes might take advantage of a lady appearing to be unaccompanied."

The officers said it was nothing and awkwardly but politely shook Mary's hand and shuffled off. Matthew felt a sense of victory and looked over at George who smiled, jauntily saluted, and headed off toward the restaurant. He sat down next to Mary with a smug look on his face.

She took a sip of her tea eyeing him from under her lashes. "Well that was interesting. Why didn't you just pee around my chair, it might have been faster."

"Hmm? I don't know what on Earth you're talking about." He looked at her innocently.

She changed her tone to a more somber timbre. "Everything go alright at the funeral home?"

He leaned on his elbows, answering quietly and comforting. "Yes, everything went well and all the arrangements have been taken care of."

"How's George?"

"He's fine. He said he's grabbing a bite to eat and then will rest for a while." He reached over and touched a hand to hers. "How are you? Doing alright about it?" His voice was kind and sincere.

Mary sighed in stared down in to her tea. "Michael and I weren't very close. Running the estate was my world, and gallivanting around the globe was his. But it does break my heart."

Matthew rubbed his fingers tenderly over the back of her hand. "I know. Perhaps we should do something to take your mind off it?"

"That sounds intriguing." Her heart felt lifted and her eyes brightened.

"We should go for a coffee and there are several wonderful museums. We can make an afternoon of it. What do you say?"

A smile returned to her face. "I'd say absolutely!"

~~00~~

The bitter cold kept them bundled up and mostly indoors. As the car rambled through the city gracefully, they had a scenic tour of Faneuil Hall and the old State House. They stopped at the Bunker Hill monument, which Matthew wanted to see.

Standing in the cold at the base of the giant grey obelisk, Mary wrapped her arms around herself looking up at it. "I'm not sure how the design symbolizes the battle." Her breath came out in little frosty clouds as she spoke in the frigid air.

Matthew was enamored with it. "British forces were trying to control the city. But an American officer of the colonial forces issued a legendary order…..'_Don't fire until you see the whites of their eyes.'_" He recited the famous command reverently. "That determination is reflected in this granite tower. We never had a chance and the king was foolish. But hindsight is always twenty-twenty." He smiled down at her. "And now here we are all these years later, staunch allies….and American service men are still trying to stake their dominance over Britain, only now it's by making passes at beautiful English ladies." He huffed jokingly. "They're so predictable."

She felt surprised by his admission….beautiful wasn't a word she heard every day, and now she had heard it twice. "And what would you have said that day, at Bunker Hill, if you had been a British officer back then?"

He laughed. "I would have said its fucking freezing! Let's get back in the car and go get some coffee!" He grabbed her hand and they hopped back in to the warmth of the limousine, laughing as they drove off to explore the city.

The driver took them to the Charles River, which was dotted with shops, restaurants and local coffee houses. One stood out, The Daily Grind, where they found a table with overstuffed chairs, facing out a front window, overlooking the river. A small Christmas tree stood twinkling next to the table. They sipped coffee and shared a plate of cookies, watching the world float by along the river.

Mary glanced over, seeing him reach in to the breast pocket of his jacket and pull out his phone. He secretively studied a message that brought a smile to his face….

….and she wondered.

**A/N **More to come this evening so stay tuned and thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

Walking home after dinner, bundled up in their heavy coats, Mary and Matthew walked on either side of George with their arms linked through his elbows. They laughed and stopped to admire the holiday window dressings and decorations. They walked briskly back in to the hotel, eager to get warm.

Shaking the snow off his coat, Matthew watched Mary as she brushed snowflakes from her hair. He reached over to help her and she grinned appreciatively. "Thank you." She had watched him all day and across the table over dinner. He was breathtakingly handsome and even the slightest touch of his hands sent little shivers through her body.

"You're welcome," he said.

George watched them and decided to make a recommendation. "Why don't we go up to my suit and have night cap?"

Matthew bent his arm and glanced at his wrist watch. "I usually don't have anything to drink within twelve hours of flying." His face brightened as he looked at them. "But some tea sounds rather nice."

"Tea it is for our flyer!" George pronounced ceremoniously as they boarded the elevator.

The suit was a corner room with a large sitting area, a lighted wet bar, expansive views of the city, and two private bedrooms. The door to Mary's adjoined room was on the far wall next to a built in bookcase. It was warm and inviting. George called room service and requested a tray of tea, which was promptly delivered with a plate of small tea cakes. George and Mary opted to join Matthew, so they sat around the coffee table sipping the smoky Lapsang Soushong and watching flurries swirl around outside the windows.

"Well, I'm going to call it an evening and leave you too young people to your own devices." George announced as he stood up. "And you don't need to watch your voices because the minute I take out my hearing aids, I'm oblivious to the world." He laughed at himself and smiled.

Matthew followed George in to his room to help him with his nightly routine. Mary sat enjoying her tea, gazing out the window. She smiled at the sound of the two men murmuring to each other, and then noticed his room became quiet. She looked to find Matthew turning the light out and pulling the door closed, carefully closing it shut. "Thank you for looking after him. That was sweet of you."

"I think its official. I'm in love with George." He said teasingly, joining her on the sofa and reaching for his tea cup.

"He adores you."

He smiled and set his tea down and looked at her, tracing a finger along her elbow. "I suppose I should call it an evening as well."

He looked at her intensely, his blue eyes boring in to her. She couldn't help her look of disappointment and felt slightly nervous. "Oh, do you have to?"

He turned on the sofa and faced her. "No, not if you don't want me to." Her large brown eyes glittered back at him and he felt warm and flushed again, but this time not from bourbon. He tentatively reached a hand out and touched a finger to one of hers, tenderly stroking her skin. He watched her for the slightest reaction, and was rewarded with a smile as she leaned her head against the cushions. He tenderly laced his fingers through hers and gently held her hand, their shared warmth now connecting them.

She noticed his eyes were dark and smoky. "Thank you for a lovely day. It was nice of you to show me the city."

"I had a wonderful time." His voice was quiet and happy and he was feeling bold. "I had a wonderful time last night, too." He watched her reaction.

She smiled and squeezed his hand playfully. "Me, too." She brushed her thumb against his and he returned the affection, the tips of their fingers brushing against each other. "Did you do anything exciting when you went back to your room?"

His mouth formed a slow and seductive smile. "I took a long, cold shower, thank you very much." He tugged her hand teasingly, sliding his fingers further around hers until their hands were clasped together.

She chuckled softly. "Really? I didn't know men still do that." She watched as he lifted her hand and brushed his lips against her skin. "It doesn't sound very pleasant."

He leaned toward her, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "I can assure you it isn't but I've become an expert at it." He huffed out a self deprecating laugh.

Her eyes were locked with his, large blue orbs of starlight. Their faces were nearly touching and she realized she was pulling him toward her. "Because of me?"

"Yes," he whispered, his lips nearly touching hers, and his eyes drinking her in. "Because of you." He brushed his lips against hers. She nipped his lower lip with her teeth and he smiled as they kissed.

"I don't think its right for you to be taking cold showers." She mumbled breathlessly in to his mouth. He moaned and covered her lips with his, instantly deepening the kiss and pressing her back in to the cushion, their bodies rubbing together in one fluid movement.

She hummed against him and gently pulled away. "Follow me," she said standing up, their clasped hands outstretched between them. She took several steps backward and he rose and followed her, across the sitting area and in to her room.

They left the lights out and Matthew quietly pushed the door closed, and locked it. She slid her arms up around his neck and they collapsed against the door, their mouths and tongues searching in a slippery, breathless, erotic kiss. Their hands bumped in to each other as they pulled and pushed clothing around and aside, desperate to feel and see more of the other. Her hands smoothed down his arms and his jacket fell to the floor, followed by her black patent belt, which dropped from his fingertip. By the time they backed up against the bed, articles of clothing trailed behind them—shoes and her black dress.

She laughed as she tumbled back on to the bed, wearing only her panties and a camisole. He stood looking down at her, his shirt hanging open, and paused. It had been a long time and he strained to slow things down. Every inch of his body coursed with need and white hot hunger; but she looked up at him alluringly and trusting and he didn't want to go from zero to fucking in sixty seconds.

Sensing his hesitation, she reached out and took his hand. "Come here," she whispered.

He kneeled down on the bed and she moved around him until he was lying beneath her. She kissed him sweetly and seductively, trying to reset their pace. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "It's just been a long time for me."

She kissed his cheeks, his lips and his eyes. "It's alright." She whispered softly, running a hand over his hair and down his chest, her kisses following her fingers. "For me, too."

He chuckled. "I used to be pretty good at this." He fleetingly remembered Laura in ecstasy and the ways he pleasured her. And then there had been a one night stand during a layover in Dubai the previous year with a woman he met in a hotel, followed by wicked and unabandoned sex…and regret.

….but this was different.

Mary was struck by his vulnerability. "I'm sure it's like riding a bike." She mumbled against his abdomen.

He laughed trying to mentally push the image of bicycles from his head and reached down to stroke her hair and one of her shoulders. He watched as her mouth moved over him, her tongue circling his navel, making him chuckle and hum at the same time. "Oh, God, that feels so good."

The sounds of foreplay and love making that filled the room were interrupted by his mobile phone. It buzzed on top of the night stand. "Shit," he whispered.

"Let it go to voicemail," she mumbled against him.

He let out a long sigh reaching for the small device. "I can't," he said sitting up.

Mary moved, surprised that he was not only reading the phone again but that he had moved to sit on the side if the bed and turned the light on. She blinked at the unwelcome brightness, feeling exposed in her camisole and panties. She noticed one of her sweatshirts on the end of the bed and held it up against her. "Are you on call for the airline?"

"No. I'm not on call."

Her lust was being replaced by anger and frustration. Men had pushed her aside before, but never for a phone. 'Well, what is…?"

He turned and cut her off gently. "I'm sorry, Mary, really, this will only take a minute but I have to answer the call." He got up, buttoned one of the buttons on his shirt, and walked back in to George's suit, pulling the door closed behind him.

Mary sat in stunned silence for a moment, only able to hear him mumbling to someone in the other room. She decided to pull her appearance and her dignity back together. She picked up their clothes, put on a pair of jeans and the sweatshirt, and waited for him to return.

Five minutes later, Matthew came back in to her room. He found Mary dressed and sitting on the edge of the bed brushing her hair. He leaned against the desk across from her. "I'm so sorry about that, Mary, really I am. But I had to take the call." His voice was earnest and apologetic.

She looked up at him. "When you said there wasn't anyone in your life, that wasn't entirely true, was it?"

He held her gaze momentarily. "No," he said quietly, "it wasn't. But not in the way you think."

She looked confused. "I'm not a school girl Matthew. Whatever it is, just be honest. If it was just the sex you wanted…"

"That's not the case," he implored her. "And I think you know that."

She exhaled and believed him. "Then what?" She looked at him, her face a reflection of her need to know.

He let out a long breath and began. "I told you about Laura and her battle with cancer. But what I didn't tell you was that her death was expedited by her decision to stop her treatment."

Mary's eyebrows wrinkled in curiosity. "Why would she do that?"

"Because she learned she was pregnant." He stared at her, watching the emotions and realization in Mary's eyes.

"Oh my," was all she could say, her surprise temporarily short circuiting her speech. "She had a baby?"

He nodded. "I pleaded with her not to do it." He said quietly.

Mary cocked her head. "Not to stop her treatment or not to have the baby?"

He looked at her, but left the question unanswered. "It doesn't matter." His eyes drifted off and then a smile returned to his face. "Her name is Emma and she was born five months before her mother's death. She has no memory of Laura, just my stories to help her understand who her mother was." He joined her on the bed, his shoulder pressed against hers, their warmth mingling together again. "Here's a recent picture of her." He held the mobile out.

Mary held it in her hand and looked down and saw the face of a beautiful five year old girl, with dark brown hair and pale blue eyes, laughing in to the camera. "Oh, heavens, she's beautiful." Mary studied the image closely and found she was smiling too. "She has your eyes."

"Yes," he sighed again. "She looks mostly like Laura but has my eyes, poor little dear." He gently nudged her shoulder with his. "She's sort of been the woman in my life these last years."

Mary eyed him. "So Emma keeps in touch with you by texting you?"

He nodded. "My flight schedule is two weeks on and then two weeks off, so I'm home half the year; but yeah, when I'm flying she stays with my mother and calls me or texts from my mum's phone." He looked in to Mary's eyes. "Emma's the reason I left the R.A.F, so I could have more time to provide a home for her, but continue to fly."

Mary rested her chin on his shoulder. "Why didn't you tell us? Why be so secretive about it?"

"I'm afraid I'm terribly protective of her and try to make sure that I'm making the right decisions." He looked back down at her picture. "But I told George this morning, and I told him I would be telling you tonight. And I would have, but then we got…._distracted_." He looked at her from the corner of his eye and she smiled. "The call just now was because she's under the weather with a cold, so I'm a little worried about her." He looked back at the child's picture his expression filled with concern.

In that instant, Mary felt herself fall hopelessly in love with him. "Why don't you give her a call back?"

"Yeah, I think I should. It'll just be a moment." He pressed his thumb against the phone and stood and walked to the window, looking out as he spoke. "Hello, my little kitten….it's Daddy again."

Mary listened to his side of the conversation, clearly edited for a child. She could hear a happy chirping sound on the other end, which made it sound like he was talking to a bird.

"….I realize you don't feel well, darling, but you must be a good girl for grandmamma and I think you owe her an apology."

Mary smiled watching this completely different side to Matthew. His clothes were still disheveled from making out, which somehow added to his attractiveness as he talked with Emma.

"….well I would like to bring you a present, but remember only well behaved young ladies get presents."

Mary chuckled and he glanced over at her and smiled, clearly enjoying his call. She stretched out on the bed, leaning back up against the pillows.

"That's my girl. I'll be home tomorrow and we'll have dinner together so I'll see you then, alright my love?" He paused as he listened to several sweet chirps. "Bye bye darling. I love you." He clicked the phone off and set it on the table.

"How is she?"

He sat on the bed next to her, taking her hands in his again. "I think she'll survive. My poor mother has her hands full trying to get her to take the cold medicine." He chuckled again. "Sorry our evening was ruined. But thank you for understanding, and I'm sorry for not telling you everything sooner."

Mary shook her head. "Nothing was ruined." She reached out and brushed a lock of blond hair from his forehead.

He kissed her hand and held it against his chest. "Maybe we can try this again and do it properly when we get home? What do you say?"

"I'd like that." She smiled as he kissed her. "Does this mean you're going to go back to your room and take another cold shower?"

"No," he said motioning her to slide over. He pulled the covers back and held them open for her, and Mary climbed under them. He slid in beside her and turned the lamp out again. "I'm exhausted."

He wrapped an arm around her and Mary rested her head against his chest listening as his heart beat slowed to a sleepy rhythm. "I think you're going to be a marvelous earl, Matthew."

He was too close to sleep to answer but reached for her hand and laced his fingers with hers and Mary drifted off with him.

* * *

**A/N** Thanks for reading! A few more chaps to go! :)


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